Title: Night Life
Author: The Fallen Sky
Rating: M
Pairing: Kick-Ass(Dave)/Hit Girl(Mindy)
Summary: New York is the city that never sleeps, and when the sun goes down, the fun begins.
Warning: Explicit sexual content
A/N: This is a one-shot and is told from Dave's POV. There are some dark and possibly disturbing themes in this story, which is set in a very AU future. The second film is ignored, but there is some continuity with the first film.
Feedback is welcome and appreciated. Enjoy!
He stands silently, unseen, a shadow amongst the darkness.
He watches the dance of death unfold before him, mesmerized by its starkness and captivated by its primal beauty.
It starts slowly, Innocence entreating Danger. Danger, amused and leering, welcomes Innocence as a wolf welcomes a lamb. Innocence smiles coyly before proceeding to tear Danger to shreds.
He can still hear the anguished cries of pain and terror echoing in his ears along with gleefully high-pitched laughter. The group of thugs never knew what hit them.
As the last body falls limply to the pavement, eyes blank and unseeing, face twisted and frozen in terrified anguish, he finally steps out of the shadows, taking slow, measured steps toward her.
Her back is to him as she stands over her fallen prey, basking in the victory, savoring the death.
When he's within several feet of her, he stops. A few moments later, she turns toward him, the dim light from the streetlamp illuminating her, giving her a sweetly angelic glow.
His eyes roam over her from her black, patent leather shoes, to the knee-high socks, to the charcoal gray, checkered skirt, to the white, button-up, long sleeved blouse, to her cherubic face and finally ending with her long, golden blonde, pigtailed hair.
She's the epitome of innocence and beauty.
He moves closer to her until he's mere inches away, his head tilted down and hers tilted up, their eyes meeting, a silent conversation exchanged in the span of a heartbeat, their faces expressionless. They remain motionless for untold minutes, seemingly lost in their own world.
Suddenly, and without warning, he reaches down, grips her waist and begins lifting her. At the same time, she wraps her legs around his waist, her arms encircling his neck. His hands move from her waist, gliding over her hips before cupping her firm bottom, helping to support her weight and improving his balance as he holds her aloft.
Moments later, her back is pressed against a nearby brick wall, the added support allowing her to release her hold on his neck, her hands playing with the hair at the nape of his neck before moving to his face where she lightly and reverently traces the ridge of his brow, before cupping his cheeks, her thumbs lightly caressing the smooth skin.
Her expression is neutral, but her eyes are alight with impish mirth and mischief. He loves her eyes, so expressive, so deep. He could get lost in her eyes.
As he continues to gaze into her blue-green orbs, her hands cease their ministrations and slowly glide down his cheeks, along his neck, skim across his t-shirt covered chest and stomach before coming to rest just above the waistband of his jeans.
Her expression softens, a faint smile gracing her lips, and he can feel a shift in the atmosphere, an electric energy that surrounds them and causes the hairs on his arms to stand up and his skin to tingle with anticipation.
As if by reflex, he gives her bottom a squeeze, a silent signal indicating his readiness and his desire for her to proceed.
Receiving the message, she fumbles briefly with the button on his jeans before undoing it and unzipping the fly. From there, her hand toys with the waist of his boxers before slipping inside, grasping his achingly hard cock and pulling it free.
Violence and death didn't used to be a turn-on for him. When he first met her, he'd been horrified by the ease and delight with which she killed a room full of thugs. Now, there's nothing he finds more appealing than watching her dispense death. Of course, he often wonders if it's the violence and death, the joy she has when dispensing it, or if it's simply her that he finds so intoxicating. Either way, he knows she enjoys the effect she has on him, and he loves that she's not shy about finishing what she starts, regardless of where they are and who may be watching.
Her delicate fingers lightly trace his length, from base to tip, before wrapping around his shaft and slowly pumping, once, twice, her eyes locked on his, her face sweetly innocent, but her eyes alight with teasing mischief and growing lust.
His whole body shivers from the feel of her hand, soft and cool against his hard, heated flesh, as she slowly strokes him, stoking the fire of desire within him.
He doesn't know how much more of this pleasant torture he can take before he explodes in her hand. As if she can read his mind or merely his body, she ceases stroking him, both to his relief and disappointment. Her hand still gripping him firmly, she lifts up her skirt and moves his cock beneath it and between her legs. From there, she pulls her white cotton panties to the side and guides him to her entrance, teasing him briefly by tracing her intimate seam with the tip of his cock before pushing the head inside and releasing him from her grip.
With agonizing slowness, he moves his hips forward, pushing his hard length inside her velvety soft, incredibly tight, welcoming warmth. It takes all of his willpower to keep his eyes open and locked on hers as he eases into her, a shaky breath escaping his lips as he finally bottoms out.
He remains still for a moment, giving both himself and her a moment to adjust to their joining, marveling at the feel of being inside her. His mind wanders briefly to years gone by, to a time when doing this with her would've been unthinkable. Even now, he sometimes has to fight his own sense of right and wrong, because part of him can't forget that while they've known each other, been partners and friends, for more than a decade, forged an unbreakable and profoundly intimate bond, she still looks like the 12 year old girl he met in that dingy apartment, same diminutive size, same lack of womanly curves, same child-like face. Even he looks the same, forever a 17 year old boy.
Of course, neither of them are as young or naive as they appear. Neither of them are as innocent, either. Death is their occupation, their life, their reason for existing. In fact, without death, they wouldn't exist. Blood is life, and in order for them to live, others must die. Of course, just because they have to kill doesn't mean they kill indiscriminately. They still have their hero's code. It's just that it's flexible, as is the way they live the rest of their lives. Case in point, the fact that he's currently buried balls-deep inside what is essentially his 12 year old best friend.
It's at that moment that he's pulled from his reverie by her squeezing him with her inner muscles.
Blinking a few times to clear the cobwebs and refocus, he sees the gentle affection in her eyes and the longing directed back at him. Unable and unwilling to voice his feelings, he simply cups her cheek in his hand, his thumb caressing the skin. A moment later, he withdraws slightly from her before slowly surging back in.
He continues the motion, gradually setting a slow and steady rhythm, his hand dropping from her face and returning to her bottom.
Minutes tick by as he makes love to her in the alley, her back pressed against a brick wall, her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist, her eyes staring lovingly into his.
It isn't long before he feels the tingle at the base of his spine and in his balls, and his pace, which has remained steady, begins to pick up. Before long, he's practically pounding into her, lightly grunting from the exertion, and she's holding on for dear life, one hand gripping his shoulder while the other fists the front of his shirt, her eyes half-lidded, her mouth slightly agape, tiny, high pitched squeaks and moans escaping her with each thrust.
He's teetering on the edge, desperately trying to hold on a little longer, not wanting this to ever end. Unfortunately, all good things must end, and after a few more frantic and disjointed thrusts, he buries himself inside her to the hilt, his entire body tensing, tiny tremors wracking his muscles as his cock swells and pulses, pouring his essence into her body, a blinding wave of pleasure crashing down on him.
As he empties himself inside her, her inner muscles begin to spasm and ripple, squeezing his cock, milking every last drop from him, a long, drawn-out, breathy sigh escaping her as she follows him over the edge and into ecstasy.
Sometime later, the rush of pleasure having receded to a pleasant lingering thrum, he's brought back to coherence by the sound of girlish giggling.
A man might feel insulted if a woman giggled after sex, but this is a pretty typical response for her. It's her way of expressing how much fun she's having and how good he made her feel, so hearing her giggle now makes his chest swell with pride. And as he looks at her radiant face, flushed and satisfied, hears the gleefulness in her voice and sees the joy and affection in her eyes, he's reminded of how lucky he is to have her and much he loves her.
Unable to help himself, he leans forward and captures her lips in a tender kiss. Her giggling stops immediately, and she kisses him back. It starts slow, a succession of feather-light pecks that gradually begin to linger and intensify. Her hands find their way into his hair, pulling him closer, her tongue tracing his lower lip, inviting him to deepen the kiss, and he does, his tongue following hers into her mouth, tangling with hers. He can taste the coppery sweet taste of blood, not hers, though. He knows what her blood tastes like, ambrosia. No, this blood is different, masculine, slightly smoky, the blood from her victims, the thugs she dispatched earlier.
Instantly, he's bombarded with images of her tearing them apart, her teeth sinking into their necks, draining their bodies of life as their screams slowly faded into muffled gasps before ceasing. She was a vision of vicious and brutal efficiency, a morbid work of living art, so fluid and graceful, so...beautiful.
He feels a renewed sense of arousal and thrusts his still hard but softening cock into her, causing her to gasp and moan into his mouth as they continue to kiss. He'd love nothing more than to take her again, right here, right now, but he knows they don't have the time.
With great reluctance, he breaks their kiss, resulting in a disappointed whine from her as she tries to recapture his lips, only for him to deny her. After a few moments, she stops trying and sinks back against the wall, a pout on her kiss-swollen lips and a mock hurt expression on her face.
"Sorry." He says, his voice rough but sincere. "I know you want more, and so do I, but the sun will be up soon."
His words snap her out of her quasi-funk, and he can see acceptance in her eyes and hear it in her voice as she replies softly, "Yeah, we should get going. Gotta get home before sunrise."
Brushing a stray strand of hair off her forehead, he says in an equally soft voice, "We can pick this up once we get home...if you want." He pauses a moment before finishing with, "I mean, we've got all day and nothing better to do."
He tries to sound hopeful, tries to let her know that he really wants to spend the day naked and in bed with her. Of course, they spend pretty much every day naked and in bed together, but they don't always spend that time fucking each other's brains out, which is exactly what he wants to do.
Her face takes on a thoughtful expression as she mulls over what he's just said, and his heart sinks when she answers, "I don't know. I really wanna watch daytime T.V. You know how much I love those judge shows and all those Jerry Springer rip offs."
His sour mood vanishes almost as quickly as it appeared, because as soon as she finishes speaking, a huge smile lights up her face, and she says in a lilting, laughing voice, "I'm just fucking with you."
He can't help but smile in return, relief clearly evident on his face.
On impulse, he leans forward and gives her a searing kiss before pulling back, smile still firmly in place, his mood upbeat.
Stepping away from the wall, he gently lowers her to the ground, her legs loosening their hold on his waist, his deflating cock slipping from her body. After a moment to get settled, she removes her arms from around his neck and tucks his cock back into his pants before buttoning them and zipping the fly.
Looking into her eyes, he says, "I'm starving. Think we have time to find someone to eat?"
Wrapping herself around his arm and pressing her body against his side, she begins leading him out of the alley as she replies, "Absolutely. This is New York. There are plenty of criminals to eat."
He glances down at her to see her smiling up at him, her sharp teeth gleaming menacingly in the dim light. He returns her toothy smile, his mouth already watering in anticipation.